Meat Chex

Have been "living in sin" with my kin for two and a half weeks. We have been employing techniques to allow for my orgasms sans moaning. It was hard at first, but with some creative gyrating and facial contortions I finally came 'til I saw stars one night not long ago.
(and again and again)

My man and I remember to take our days off of working when the family members are away at their jobs. This morning the precursor to routine stretches and breakfast was me at his groin on my knees.

"Come up here and kiss me," he demanded. "Mm-you taste like cock."
I purred, "Your cock tastes like pussy."

He pushed me back to my knees and was kind enough to get down into my throat before coming. I much prefer the choice of "spit or swallow" to be over-ridden by deep throat ejac.

Afternoon Break

I keep thinking I'm going to get to stage two of this fantasy, but I haven't. This time a guest interrupted our progress. Read how.


It's a cool, sunny September day and he and I are doing house-work. He's doing something outside as I wash dishes in the afternoon light by the window. I see him suddenly, standing in our dirt driveway and he calls to me, "Shasta put on those thick red leg warmers of yours and come down here." I dry my hands, find the knit leg warmers he's talking about, and go downstairs. I go outside in what I have on, which is one of the many reasons I love living out here where it's rural. I'm wearing the softest of his old button down work shirts, panties, and now the red leg warmers pulled up to my knees.

Prrrrowl

Daddy's going off the grid tomorrow for a week.

I decided to get sauced tonight.

This is what I'll be listening to.
A Cat Called Diddy Wah


Diddy Wah reminds us that they don't make nostalgia like they used to. ...Sock hop anyone?

Snapshot

I flew to my man over a week ago. I wore the specified outfit. Getting dressed was very exciting.

Alma Hatch, Rose Hole

p. 69 The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon

Alma coming and coming, and screaming and coming. Me coming then, too. No words left, only not-talking passing through me into her. Through her, my body pulled up sweet to her sweet, to sunlight on a white bird way up high in the blue, flying.
Alma Hatch's body was sarsaparilla or hard candy in a dish or an all-day sucker. Something so sweet and pink and sticky you got it all over yourself. Something once you starting in on you couldn't stop til you made yourself sick. Always smelled of roses, too - roses mixed with woman smell. Alma Hatch was always putting rosewater on her. Behind her ears, under her arms, on her wrists. Sometimes, she'd just sit her ass down in a puddle of that stuff and suck rosewater up insider her. If you walked into a room and Alma Hatch had been in there during the last twenty-four hours, you'd know by the roses. Pink roses. Not red, white, or yellow - pink. Nipples were pink, woman's hole was pink, lips pink. I swear Alma Hatch was no white woman. She was a pink woman.
"Best whore in the state," Ida Richilieu would say about Alma years later. "What makes Alma so good is that she looks like a rose, smells like a rose, and then fucks your thorns loose."

Naughty at the Desk

7:57 am
me: leaving for bus soon. looks lovely out. skirt no panties...gonna be an interesting day!

11:53 am
me: I'm gonna run outside for a breath of fresh air now.
H: are you wearing any panties?
me: no...
H: are you at your desk?
me: ...yeeees
H: is anyone around there?
me: ...nooo
H: hm. how does your pussy feel? is it wet or dry?
me: well, I'd say it's moving to the wet end of the spectrum now
H: why don't you, when no one is around, put your fingers up there and find out for me
me: [giddy hesitation. looking around and humming. compliance. naughty delighted savor.]

me: are you expecting something more? it smells good. wet.
H: no [laughter] I just like knowing your over there at your desk with you hand in your pussy. you're such an innocent good girl. thanks for letting me dirty you up.



very much my pleasure.
i'd like, some day, to feel satisfied with my written descriptions of the electricity H (or many wanting to dirty me) create in that naughty box of mine.
electric. throb. drip. swell. puff. grab. pull. shoot. strike. pulse. seethe.
adjectives that will likely prove useful in the paragraphs to be written.

Emily Dickinson

Hadj: Pain's successor will not find us for many years
me: who's pain's successor?
Hadj: Ownership, its replacement



There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
'Tis Pain's Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —

A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe —
But tell him that it ceased to feel —
The Creature lying there —

And he will tell you — skill is late —
A Mightier than He —
Has ministered before Him —
There's no Vitality.

There is a Languor of the Life

"I have found a new whore/personal blog to adore. Maybe I'll read you a post some time. I feel myself wanting to morph...make my more sultry whore dreams a reality under your steam"

I am offhand about this in some ways. I am lacking the energy or desire to delve deeply into any more relationships, but lacking also any interest in dating when what I want to do is be fucked. I don't want to top from the bottom either, or I would have told the boy from last week he could have me. All he had to do was reach out and grab. He learned this in a small way when he pulled me tight for a giddy kiss. It was sweet and seemed to come from place of mannerisms that are alien to me now. "I'm gonna have to go out for ice cream with you more often!" he called over his shoulder, picking up his dropped bicycle. I wonder what his cock looks like, I thought, smiling and waving goodbye.

"What do you want to do with him?" Hadj inquires. "I think," I respond "the question is more, what do I want him to do with me?"




Yes, you can buy me dinner and yes I will suck your cock with vigor for dessert. Yes, I have been practicing at home.




I morph, taking shapes I perceive as desirable by others, easily. I lose myself in these projections and eventually self-destruct and flee. Hadj knows all this. He sees me there and monitors me closely to ensure I become no one else in our life together. The goal is for me to keep being me. What then, do we do with the resurgence of interest in whoring? I know he has always preferred the company of whores - befitting my fetish for him as a(n ex) Navy man. I know also that my interest in whores and whoring began to surface just about three years ago, and that my link to the profession is becoming more seasoned. But, I am ever an innocent, sometimes foolhardy. I walk these lines very slowly knowing that I am probably clueless.




It dawned on a me, a year later, that my neighbor propositioned me, didn't just "ask me to dinner", despite the fact that he prefaced his invitation to dine with, "Are you interested in...the entertainment industry...?" In my defense, the question was, mostly, in context. I lack the capability to see what others are thinking even when I know what they are feeling.

My interest in sex-work began at money. I am coming to see more clearly now the differences some women have in their reasons for turning to this profession. I read Hadj's reviews on the whore boards of his region and become ferociously aroused. I want to want the men, and I want to please them. The money seems to be shrinking into the background as part and parcel of the job's entirety. It used to be quick, big cash. Now it's personal. It's desire. It's the whore in me coming of age.

Squid Pro Quo

I fucked up on Sunday in a big and a few small ways.

I had my old friend Pete over. We've been friends since we were 17. We went and had a few Guinesses down the street. We split the bill. Pete still lives with his parents in the suburbs we grew up in, while he waits for his rock band to get bigger, or his patience to deteriorate entirely. He works only part time at the Walgreens photo counter and he is always strapped for cash. I'm strapped for cash because I put myself through college on private loans and because I've been too stubborn in my lifestyle to have a roommate for the last two years.

I knew some sexual friction was present, but I didn't know what the outcome would be. When, on the phone with my Daddy before going back in to chill with Pete, I was asked how things were going I said I thought Pete and I were eternally platonic. He'd made no moves and I hadn't either. I like being used to not making the moves. I like the simplicity of obvious and traditional gender roles these days. I went back inside. An hour later I was riding Pete's cock.

I had not planned on that. I had hoped that perhaps I would suck him off. That I would have the opportunity to practice the jaw relaxing skill I've been working on and to affirm my deftness as a good little cock sucker. I did get to do so, and got praised too. I had fun sucking his long, hard cock and knowing he was watching and loving it. The orange flavored condom even tasted good. He moaned and told me how good I was when his head rolled back. He told me I "should take off my shirt", because nice boys don't know how to order around nice girls quite right.

"You should take off your shirt."

"Take off your shirt."

"Get this fucking shirt off."

36 hours later I had to make a confession to Pete that I should have made before I ever climbed on top of his cock. When he asked me later how I could have over looked the thing I confessed I realized and told him two things:
1. because I got carried away in the heat of the moment (slut)
2. because I'm not used to fucking someone without lots of very explicit talk about the fucking/sucking/slapping/tying up that will occur.

Had Pete and I met without all the familiar history I would have disclosed to him while still on date number 1. I don't go on dates with new people without the hope that fucking will happen. I did go out with Pete hoping that some sucking or making out would happen, but I really wasn't sure. Also, I don't really know how to be at ease, as the little slutty sweet I am, with Pete. I know how to be good old Shasta; friend with history, buddy, tom-boy, pal. It's a weird mental shift for us both (that went really well over all).

Bad little girl mistake number 2. I am also supposed to get dinner in exchange for sucking cock, but I let myself think, it's Pete. This is a practice swing. He's so broke. The truth is more that I don't know how to verbalize this quid pro quo set up. Daddy is going to tutor me on language soon. In the meantime I practice feeling as sexy as I am on my own - so I can own my trade. Confidence is the key to pandora's box.

Well, confidence and knowing I don't want to break Daddy's rules on accident or on purpose, out of ignorance or out of sneakiness. Sometimes I have to swallow the old innocent so the sweet slut can grow as big as she aught to.

I'm going out with a brand new possible suitor tonight. He's only 24, but he's cute. Think he can play in the kitchen with slut girl, or is he too inexperienced/immature? Can I tell him what trade options there are, or am I too shy and sweet? This innocence thing is a double edged sword sometimes.

Two new rules for me:
1. Don't jump on the cock and ride it to its "Most logical conclusion." Suck it.
2. Quid pro quo for Daddy and me.

A Dirty Limerick from my Love

Displeased with shastaschism.
Feeling like a cataclysm.
This long distance trick
is somnambulistic.
Empty hands and dreams of shastajism.

Woke Up Needing Soothin

Nina Simone, I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl

Oh anxiety. Oh Daddy. Won'tcha come give me some sugar?

Sex Dream

I'm at a dance, a sock hop in my poodle skirt and white anklets. I'm alone in room outside the dance hall when I meet up with Stacy October. Stacy and I want to fuck. We climb up a hay loft to a bed and my roommate Ana is there. Stacy and I get under the covers and try to be quiet but Ana knows and gets up. She is angry and storms out. I follow apologetically, she accepts. I remember my old bedroom upstairs.

I take Stacy and run into two other girls who want to come; we say it's fine. Stacy begins telling me that her canal is high - her cunt stumps people, it seems. I fuck her. It is delicious and feels so amazing to give a longstanding dyke, since high school, an orgasm. I am privileged to eat her gorgeous red pussy. She cums and ejaculates like a cock with more precision. She shoots her cum. It is red. She shoots it all over the room in streams. I am delighted.

One of the other women is grossed out but the other is into it. The scene changes.

Stacy and I are clothed and going back to the dance. Stacy mentions spanking and I want her again. I take her back to a room and am just beginning to slap her fine tan ass when a panic hits the air. She dresses instantly and goes out, I follow behind. It is a chaotic crowded room and I don't know where she's gone.

People begin screaming, the lights go out. Some one is trying to make an announcement. I hear the exits are sealed but head for them anyway. It is pandemonium, no one is leading so I go my own way. I make it outside cautiously and see a far off explosion. People are scarce now and there are a lot of airplanes over head. I hear some yelling "China! China!" and I don't know if they're enemies or allies. I continue ahead to a hill. I climb it.

I realize I don't know what's over the hill simultaneously as a war character mounts it. He is a solid man with a hard chest and barrel belly. He is wearing a gas mask, faceless. The sky is in it's purple pre-dawn state as the man towers, a dark figure over me.

I wake.

Are you my Daddy?

It's Friday night. I want fun (I am a girl after all) and maybe just need to whine for a sec before I pick myself up and go find it. I am deprived. I am deprived of depravity. I have what I want, a lady I adore, friends I am blessed with, a path clear and bright, but you know what I don't have? Kinky-Hot-Take-Me-Fuck-Me-Use-Me-Hard-Fucking.

And goddamn it's been a long time. That old cockhungry feeling may be returning, but that's not quite it. I have toys aplenty and a lady not afraid to wield them. I begged her, "Please, please fuck me, push me down on my knees" and she did that, expertly. Something's missing...

I want to be owned. Sigh. No, I want to be abused then coddled: repeat.

I know I can't be right now, there is no one available to the task. I have trodden back and forth the bridge of my last partner's patience. I considered burning it up once or twice, and I'm glad I knew better. Something about him has changed me. I can never go back. I can't have him now, mostly due to the distance between our homes (not to mention his being on a date tonight), but his stories, rather than getting me randy, are making me mopey.



Lament.
Where, oh where are you my daddy? I'm here, in the windy city, waiting, cooing, needing to be seen and cared for...





picture sneakily nicked from Lola